


The Subways of Men

by bendingsignpost



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, M/M, Public Transportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clutching his satchel, Bilbo widened his stance as much as he could, one foot on the grimy floor, the other on a ragged piece of free newspaper. The train jerked into motion, and the true agony began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Subways of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Vyctori, edited by Mars.

The subways of Men were not meant for anyone of reasonable size. High seats and higher handholds lined each rattling compartment. Vertical rails punctuated each row of seats, all out of reach beyond the knees and bags of the Big Folk. Luggage large as a Hobbit blocked the low rails of the handicapped section, and his attempt to reach a handhold resulted in a backpack to the face. He was overlooked, crushed, and pushed along by the evening commute.

All this, before the doors closed.

Clutching his satchel, Bilbo widened his stance as much as he could, one foot on the grimy floor, the other on a ragged piece of free newspaper. The train jerked into motion, and the true agony began. 

_I should have taken a taxi_ , thought Bilbo, and not for the first or last time. Never mind the ridiculous traffic, never mind the cost of fare from Bree to Hobbiton at the best of times. Curse Gandalf, confound his car, and good riddance to the pair of them! Next time, Bilbo would secure the promise of a ride home. Next time, Bilbo wouldn't go! Surely they could have discussed the changes to his book over the phone like reasonable people.

Ten stops to endure, nearly the entire line, and by the first, his mood was as sour as the smell from under that seat there. By the second, he'd floundered into more than his fair share of embarrassing scenarios, the sort that occur to any unfortunate soul surrounded by giants with crotches at eye level. By the third...

By the third, Bilbo was less than pleased. 

But, at the fourth, a miracle: more people left than boarded. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Bilbo wedged himself between two horribly overgrown children and at last grasped a rail, his hand far below the grips of the children. They stared down at him, as children did, more ill-mannered than any fauntling would dare, and Bilbo willed himself not to care. 

In a train filled with the squeal of brakes and the overloud voices of those on their phones, communicative speech was at a minimum, and so it was not Bilbo's fault that he jumped at a gruff utterance from behind him. 

"Move," grunted a deep voice. 

Eyes firmly ahead, Bilbo strengthened his grip on the rail. 

"You two," the voice continued. "Move."

The children shifted and shuffled away, and Bilbo ducked at the turning of yet another backpack. The voice and the Dwarf it belonged to replaced one of the gangly creatures. The Dwarf gripped the rail, his hand just above Bilbo's and twice as large. 

"Big Folk," the Dwarf muttered, and Bilbo committed a faux pas as egregious as stumbling face first into a bum. 

He established eye contact. 

The Dwarf met his gaze squarely, a challenge. His eyes were blue, his beard short in the modern fashion, and his long dark hair flecked with grey. A normal enough face, save for the sharp way he used it. 

"Big Folk," Bilbo agreed tiredly. 

The challenge did not soften. It redirected, a blue-tinged sword pointed elsewhere, a threat to other people. 

The doors closed, and the train pulled itself into the dark. It trundled along an unsteady curve, rocking its contents about. Bilbo caught himself with a step, his foot atop a steel-toed boot. 

"Sorry," Bilbo said quietly.

"Unless I'm mistaken, you didn't design this contraption," the Dwarf replied, voice low. 

"Goodness, no," said Bilbo. "If such a thing were Hobbit-made, the seats would have cushions and armrests."

"The tunnels are certainly narrow enough to be the craft of Hobbits."

"And metal enough to be the realm of Dwarves."

The Dwarf shook his head. "Too much concrete. Too much haste."

Bilbo snorted. "Too much haste on public transportation? I'm astonished to hear it." 

"Hurry is not the same as progress."

"Oh, very much the opposite," Bilbo agreed. "Two stops ago, someone kept blocking the closing door."

They exchanged a look of the sorely inconvenienced. The Dwarf stared out the black window into the nothing beyond the glass. The gazes of their reflections met, and Bilbo politely averted his eyes.

Another stop, another shriek of the brakes. Another jostle into each other and everyone else as the carriage filled yet further. Loud Khuzdul and louder laughter rang out from the far side of the carriage, nearly drowning out the phone of one Man who had apparently never learned of headphones or common courtesy. 

Bilbo glanced at the Dwarf beside him out of the corner of his eye, but the Dwarf had no noticeable reaction. He didn't seek to slip away into the crowd, and the claustrophobic nervousness in Bilbo's chest eased slightly. Too many people, pressed all about, far too many, but at least here was one who would notice if Bilbo were stepped on or smothered to death. 

More Big Folk pressed in, Bilbo and the Dwarf shuffled in turn, and Bilbo made the mistake of switching to grasp the rail with his right hand. His fingers brushed the Dwarf's left hand before gripping lower, and it would have been much easier to ignore were they not standing so intimately face-to-face. Still, it was either he face the Dwarf or risk facing a skirt with a hem nearly higher than he was. Face the Dwarf he did, ears burning. 

"This isn't a way you often take," said the Dwarf. 

"What gave me away?"

"Discomfort," the Dwarf replied, but not mockingly. His frankness ought to have been rude, but this realisation wasn't quick in coming. "You don't claim your space."

"It's the most I can do to stand in it," Bilbo said. 

The Dwarf glanced down. "I don't envy your bare feet."

"No worse than a windy garbage day," Bilbo said. 

The turning track made them sway and rattle, and the Dwarf was gracious enough not to fault Bilbo for a steadying hand on the chest. 

"Sorry," said Bilbo all the same. Which was more awkward: touching a stranger's chest or their long hair across it?

"It should thin out next stop," the Dwarf said. 

"Oh. Good."

The Dwarf knew what he was about, and there was a moment of breathing space as passengers shuffled and shoved their way to the platform. 

"This way," said the Dwarf, a firm hand pushing Bilbo before him, under the arms and bags of Big Folk. A tight spin around the rail brought him to a freshly emptied seat. Much too high, of course. As casually as if he'd done it a thousand times, the Dwarf lifted Bilbo, a hand beneath each arm. Too surprised to even squeak, Bilbo sat. The seat's back high against his head, his knees close to straight, his feet dangling, Bilbo hugged his satchel. 

"Better?" asked the Dwarf. He stood before Bilbo, one hand on the rail. Bilbo's ankles framed his knees, and the Dwarf's trousers were soft. 

"Thank you," said Bilbo, fully on autopilot. "Do you, ah. Often? Do that? To people you've just met."

The Dwarf blinked. "Forgive me," he said. "I'm too accustomed to travelling with my boys, it seems."

"Oh," said Bilbo. "You're a father?" 

"An uncle only," said the Dwarf. 

"Oh," said Bilbo again. And then: "Good."

The Dwarf lowered his head and raised his eyebrows. "Good?"

"It's slightly less embarrassing than being treated as your own child," Bilbo said. 

The doors shut and the journey resumed. The Dwarf shifted his weight, and his coat shifted against Bilbo's shins. 

"I apologise, but you seemed in need of a seat," the Dwarf said. 

"Yes, except that was my stop," Bilbo lied, simply to see the Dwarf blanch. A laugh and a smile quickly exposed the truth.

The Dwarf shook his head. "I rescind all apologies."

"Too late," said Bilbo. "I'm keeping them anyway."

"When is your stop? So I know not to trap you here."

"Oh, it's the last," Bilbo said, and the Dwarf did have a point. Bilbo was quite hemmed in on all sides, and particularly in front with the Dwarf leaning in to converse. "Don't worry on my account. You look the sort who would. Worry, I mean."

"You sound like my sister," said the Dwarf. 

"She sounds reasonable."

"Now you _truly_ sound like my sister."

Bilbo laughed, and the Dwarf smiled. 

"What's her name?" Bilbo asked. 

"Dis."

"Well, there, we're quite different," Bilbo said. "'Dis' doesn't sound like 'Bilbo' at all."

"Bilbo," the Dwarf repeated quietly. 

"Very different," said Bilbo. 

"Very," agreed the Dwarf. 

"And your name is?" 

"Thorin."

"Thorin," Bilbo echoed. "Very different all around."

"The difference is what makes them fit," said Thorin. "Names to people."

"I'm not sure if that was philosophical or poetic."

"I can be both," Thorin said, and by this time, he had leaned forward a great deal. They realised it in the same instant, and Thorin straightened his back. He did not stammer, or cough, or look away. He simply gave Bilbo space, more space than he'd had since coming through the turnstile. Even with their legs touching, it was an incredible distance. 

"I do hope your stop isn't soon," Bilbo said, and tried to wet his dry lips with a tongue little better. "How will I defend my seat?"

"We have two stops before you've cause to worry."

"Good," said Bilbo. 

"Yes."

"Mm."

They came to the next stop. They left it. There was enough space now that Thorin needn't stand quite so closely, and Bilbo said nothing about it. 

"Next stop, Brandywine," called out the overhead announcement. "Change here for the Blue Line."

"Off to the Blue Mountains?" asked Bilbo. 

"Ered Luin," said Thorin. 

"Hobbiton," said Bilbo. 

"I know," Thorin said. "Unless I've grossly misunderstood what an outbound train to Hobbiton is."

"Yes, right."

The train rattled. The train sped. To Bilbo's immense disappointment, it did not spontaneously break down. Instead, all too soon, the brakes began their screeching. The platform appeared in the window behind him.

"Lovely to meet you," Bilbo said, a tumble of words little better than a limp handshake. 

"A pleasure," said Thorin. "Do you, do you commute often?"

Bilbo shook his head, explanations of his publisher's whims needlessly long. 

Thorin nodded. Something closed behind his eyes as the doors opened. 

Passengers shuffled off. Thorin moved with them. One step. Another. And out the door.

"Bilbo Baggins!" Bilbo blurted after him. "One word, at gmail!" 

He shifted in his seat, rising onto his knees as the doors closed. He twisted about, nose nearly to the window, and there on the platform, Thorin smiled like the dawn.


End file.
